Growing up as the child of a Baptist minister, it was expected that I would, shortly after high school, meet and marry “the one”. My job thereafter would be to pop out some kids, and spend the rest of my years tending house.

I can say in all honesty (of course, hindsight is 20/20) that I was never one of those little girls who dreamed of having a wedding and a family. But, surrounded by pressures from my environment, I was on the hunt for a husband by the time I was nineteen or so. I felt uncomfortable with this search, but thought it was part of my duty as a good Christian girl, and SURELY, any discomfort was the result of Satan, gas, or my own spiritual shortcomings.

So, not long after I met the cute boy with the big green eyes, I found myself walking down the aisle toward him. Suddenly, though everything in me was telling me that this was a bad idea, I was married.

I had only recently turned 21 years old.

Oh, and did I mention we were both virgins?

Now, two people marrying each other and still being virgins isn’t terribly uncommon. Religion plays a huge role for many people in this country, and often religion and abstinence go hand in hand.

For me, though, not being at all experienced or even educated about sex was a problem (from the book my mom gave me when I was twelve, I knew the P went in the V, and I thought that’s all there was to sex).

In fact, I’d never seen an adult male penis outside of the movie Schindler’s list. NOT A JOKE.

Even so, I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t excited to have sex for the first time with a man I supposedly loved and supposedly wanted to bone. I mean, hadn’t I waited my WHOLE LIFE to get down with somebody? Hadn’t I heard women in the church giddily express, as the red crept into their cheeks, just how beautiful their wedding nights were?

Maybe I thought that I wouldn’t like it the first time anyway…at least, that’s what the other women in my life told me: that it would hurt, that it would mostly “be for him” for awhile until I got used to it, and that, after all, he’d always want it more than I would. I had one woman who literally told me that, as a good wife, I should always be available to “service him” and to just suck it up (literally?), because it’d only last five minutes anyway.

It wasn’t my ex’s fault that I’d been given such horrible information. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that, on top of neither of us having any clue what we were doing, we also had zero to no chemistry. Just…none. And if there is anything sex needs, it’s love or lust. Sadly, we had neither.

It’s no wonder that six years later I was very recently divorced and seeing a new guy when–naked with tears falling down my face–I confessed to him that I felt guilty when he and I had sex.

What?

Sex should be fun. Right?

Fortunately, that particular relationship was as loving and patient as it could be. I was lucky to find someone who not only assured me I was beautiful, but showed me that sex is wonderful and awesome, and something that should be enthusiastically enjoyed by people who like or love each other.

Oh, right. Sex should be fun. What a novel idea.

I’ll be honest and say that my journey from hating sex to enjoying it was greatly helped by distancing myself from the church. It’s hard to learn to appreciate and enjoy yourself as a sexual being while actively participating in an organization that doesn’t exactly sanction that sort of thing.

I also began reading quite a few feminist blogs, which helped to assure me that shame, guilt and embarrassment had no place in the bedroom (unless you and your partner(s) have agreed ahead of time that is the sort of game you’re going to play. What can I say? While I don’t feel the desire to participate, I find the whole BDSM culture fascinating).

To sum, the real cure for my shored up bad knowledge and feelings about sex being a dirty, awful thing that was only acceptable with your husband when he wanted it was to shore up a different kind of knowledge. I’ve read books on blow jobs and sex positions. I’ve watched some porn and read some erotica. I’ve had a roll in the hay or five with a rando. I’ve sought advice and listened to others talk joyously about their own sex lives.

Maybe my newfound enthusiasm is that I am just making up for lost time.

I think it’s more likely that growing up the way I did has helped me to appreciate sex for what it is even more.

Probably not quite what the church intended for me, but, as they say, “the Lord works in mysterious ways.”